Logs:Lucky Everyone
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| RL Date: 19 January, 2013 |
| Who: Ainslee, Brieli, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Brieli assesses the new greenrider from Benden, then they both question and run off a moody H'vier. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Fog begins to coalesce in the very early morning hours and lingers throughout the day, soft and still and clammy. |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Leova/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
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| A fall morning in High Reaches may not be as glorious as some that Ainslee has previously experienced in previous climates - the changing colors in Benden's coverage is incredible, trees turning rust-colored and golden in turn, in last defiance against the inexorable chill breath of winter's first, sere frost. Nonetheless, the greenrider is curled into an attractive curve atop a chair on the garden patio, a steaming mug of klah in one hand, the other cupping the delicate line of jaw. Despite the difference in clime or locale, she does seem to be enjoying the crisp snap in the air, her hair touseled in charming disarray, dressed in warm layers. Her gaze is focused far distant, and none sit at the four-top that she's currently seated next to; the only other current denizen in this midmorning hour is settled far across the way, a big bluerider buried within piles of hidework. The fog certainly can't compete with changing colors, as still and gray as it is, clinging to the rock of the bowl and the people and dragons that pass through it with stubborn tenacity, bringing a damp chill with it. At least it's not snow, that's already come and gone, in autumn, WTF is wrong with this place? But if there's one thing that the mist is good for, it's camouflage; it, soft soles on slouchy boots, and a careful long-legged stride brings Brieli to the patio near-silently and unnoticed until she's coming up the steps. She's wearing her flight jacket, but carries nothing with her to indicate what exactly she's out doing - but it's daytime, the knot says she's a weyrwoman, presumably she's got work to do, right? She looks purposeful, at least, hands in pockets and dark gaze sharp as she assesses the bluerider, then the redhead - and apparently, Ainslee's the more interesting of the two, as the tall dark girl starts that way. Lucky her. When H'vier emerges from the Snowasis in his flight leathers, a package under one arms and a mug in his hand, he doesn't look happy. His thick brows are furrowed and the line of his scruffy jaw is set tight with some unspoken tension. He doesn't look like the sort of guy random people would be apt to approach for friendly conversation just now. Certainly not the sort of guy that's going to go over by any big blueriders to start up conversations. The bronzerider doesn't directly approach the females either, however, but the table he chooses to throw the package on and then sit down at isn't very far away from where Ainslee has claimed temporary territory. Even in agitation, H'vier gravitates toward the ladies. A beacon in the grey gloom indeed: the firebrand of red-hair is, upon occasion, much cause of Ainslee's rue. When Ainslee actually allows rue to persuade her from her natural tendencies. Leggy goldrider pulls blue-green gaze from the distance to the foreground. Smiles come easily: the flavor of the hour (not hazelnut, though wafts of that could be noted amongst the vanilla-and-cinnamon of her klah) is faintly sleepy, languorous. One leg is tucked under her; the other is pulled up to her chest, the arm holding her klah wrapped loosely about the latter, looped just under her knee. "Good morning." A polite flicker askance to gauge the influence of knot gives cause for a shift to more attentiveness, straightening though not losing the casual comfort of carriage. Tacked on in her breathy alto, a pretty present however belated, "--weyrwoman." The natural drift of focus from Brieli to H'vier is likely motivated by a captive curiosity, an idle interest in the package flung atop nearby table - and perhaps the man himself. Her lips curve into a different smile, but attention moves appropriately back. "Lovely morning, isn't it?" Guileless, no sarcasm indicated in voice or the negligent gesture of klah-mug to the lingering fog. The goldrider's reached the table by the time big and grouchy comes out, so Brieli's momentarily distracted by all of that, glancing over her shoulder to note H'vier, package, and mood. When her attention shifts back to the greenrider, her curiosity is clear - and she doesn't try to hide it, arching fine brows at the other woman conspiratorially. What's up with him? "Good morning. And welcome, I suppose?" There's no apology there; she's not feeling bad about her lack of hospitality. Her brief smile is bright enough, and certainly seems sincere as she offers out a slender hand. Wryly, amused, "And it's about as good as you get for the time of year. I'm Brieli." Apparently, she doesn't interrogate every transfer. Not immediately. Of course H'vier notes both Ainslee and Brieli, maybe especially the former because he hasn't met her before. Or because she's never interrogated him before. But he doesn't acknowledge either of them with more than that precursory glancing over. He takes a drink from his mug, set it down, narrows his eyes at the package and then he's digging in a pocket for what eventually comes out as a folded up piece of hide. "It's sharding cold out," rumbles the large bronzerider, which might beg the question of him being out here rather than inside. Also makes it pretty obvious that he's listening to them as he looks at the words scribbled on the hide. A shrug of shoulders, faint inclination of chin, eyebrows creased in bemusement: Ainslee hasn't a clue regarding H'vier. Her eyes do follow him for a moment longer, and return when he begins to talk to himself. Her smile curves again, before Brieli's words distract her back to present (real) company. "Thank you," Ainslee in graceful return volley, shifting klah mug to opposite hand in order to shake Brieli's hand. "Ainslee," in tones flavored well with the strain of Bitra's vocals; "Recently of Benden." Her High Reaches knot is still new enough to give the impression of recently graduated weyrlinghood, though her age obviously makes that very unlikely. "It is lovely, though, in its own way- dreary and gloomy, to be sure, but lovely like... a melancholy kind of sorrow." Her smile is friendly, amiable: carefully non-offensive. "Would you like to sit?" Polite invitation. See? She *can* play well with others, regardless of all that faintly-couched disapproval from her previous weyrleaders! At least Brieli doesn't seem to be in the interrogation frame of mind today? It's something. It's also something that she won't ignore H'vier, despite the fact that he's both talking to them and pretending they aren't there. "Three winters," she tells him, dubiously. "To get used to it. That's what they say. But this is my third coming, and I expect no difference whatsoever." Her expression shades a little regretful at that; so cold here, so warm at Monaco where her bridges aren't just burned, but bombed out, twisted and wrecked. And she called herself a diplomat. "Ainslee," she echoes as she sits, crossing legs, her own voice... oddly devoid of any accent at all, really. "Pleasure. I guess there is that, for the fog. I find you can overhead interesting things quite by accident as well, out of nowhere." Imagine that! "How did you find Benden lacking?" Which is direct, but not pointed. Like a melancholy kind of sorrow. Okay, that makes H'vier turn his attention much more directly on Ainslee and his expression is not unlike something along the lines of 'what are you smoking?' "I suppose I'll find out," he says to Brieli's comment on it taking three winters to get used to them. Evidently he plans on staying for awhile. Which is probably good since he just transferred here and all. And since he's listening in on them, anyway, H'vier gathers the package and his mug and rises to invite himself into a seat at their table whether they want him there or not. "Ainslee, was it? H'vier." Ainslee will count her blessings wherever she can find them. She settles her klah down onto the tabletop, rearranges herself to keep H'vier and Brieli both in view: both legs idly curled sideways in her chair. Being short-limbed comes in useful, upon occasion. "Crom winters are colder," she reports absently. "Something about being inland." Crom is on much the same latitude, after all. Speaking of burnt bridges... "Benden?" A flicker of expression, self-doubt perhaps, then hardening of line of lip and expression. "A preponderance of misogynistic men?" is her oh-so-helpful response to Brieli. That sounds like a Kalaith comment, surely. She coughs, colors charmingly for her insoucience. "I had a... drawn-out disagreement with a wingleader. He was kind of a dick. And not in the good way." She kind of forgot that H'vier was there. "Ah--" caught. "Well-met, H'vier." Blue-green gaze assesses him a moment. "New here, too?" Since it isn't -completely- obvious, Ainslee. Dryly, "I'm sure you'll be holding your breath in anticipation." Brieli watches H'vier as he walks over and introduces himself to the greenrider, though thoughtful attention is more on the package than anything else. 'Business', huh? Leaning back in her chair, the goldrider tells Ainslee easily, "Winter comes sooner, though. And the winds here..." An inward shudder. Not even a flicker of surprise or anything else at the mention of Crom, to her credit. But, no - she sounds a little too cultured for a miner or anyone living near them. Any reaction from the greenrider likewise doesn't draw much from her but attentive interest, though something about her dark gaze sharpens for the explanation. Interesting. "You should meet some of the Glacier riders, I think. And H'vier just came from Ista in time for the snow, lucky thing." The fact that H'vier doesn't really react much to Ainslee's comment on men, other than a slight narrow of his eyes, might mean he has no idea what it means. "My wingleader was a dick, too." He clearly knows what that means. "I didn't know you all thought there was a good way to be a dick." By you all he no doubt means all of womankind. Brieli's attention on the package, however brief, earns a grin as though he thinks he knows exactly what she's thinking. "Errands," he tells her. He's not that lacking in subtlety. Really. "So very lucky. I was getting too much damned sun, anyway." Lips curve into a smile. "My wingmates have already advised me to keep my distance from Glacier." They also advised Ainslee which political faction to avoid in Hailstorm - since there are no less than /three/ at the moment. All the advice contradicts one another about *that* too. Warring factions. Lovely. (Lovely as only a miner's daughter who strove to /not/ be a miner's daughter can find it, at least.) A sympathic nod at the mention of winds. "I'm sure winters are cruel here," the greenrider murmurs to Brieli, following the end of her commentary with a lift of eyebrow. "Ista," the word with a flicker of appreciation. "Pretty place, if a little... hot." Tactful. Igen's dry, too, did you know? Smile widens at H'vier's innocence upon the topic of dickery. She won't bother to educate him. "Maybe it's part-and-parcel of being a wingleader," is her reply, instead. With a diffident little shrug for the bronzerider, unconcerned - maybe, given the current situation, she doesn't consider it her problem - Brieli says, a bit wistfully, "I didn't think there was such a thing as too much sun. And it's very interesting how many transfers have an issue with authority. Fascinating, actually. Someone ought to do a study." It's an idle thought, but by the quirk of her lips, one she finds amusing. Despite the fact that the last thing High Reaches needs is more issues. Weird sense of humor. And, not to shock the newbies, but: "Azaylia and Hraedhyth are in Glacier." GASP! "But I was thinking more of Leova, Vrianth's. I think you might like her." This, to Ainslee - though it doesn't leave H'vier out either. As for wingleaders, "I wonder if it's something of a sense of futility in an Interval. What are they really running? Why not micromanage to make up for it? Not that I condone it, but..." She shrugs again. It is what it is. "Who said anything about problems with authority?" returns H'vier with a tight little grin that possibly hints at his previous agitation. "Azaylia," he adds like he's not sure he's remembering right the fact that she's, you know, a goldrider. But of course he's remembering right and that fact puts a rather disapproving look on his face. One can guess why. "None of us are proper dragonriders anymore. Clinging to old traditions is a waste of time and talent that could be better used on more productive things." Like business, for instance. Never mind that he still doesn't seem to like the idea of a goldrider in a fighting wing. A look of reservation to this latest revelation: a goldrider? In a fighting wing? Interval changes all, one would suppose, though coming from the heralded Tradition of Benden... Ainslee may have more thoughts than not. Conflicted ones. Instead, the greenrider focuses on a statement previous from the goldrider. "Maybe it's that all wingriders have issues with authority, but they only come to light under scrutiny? Or they wouldn't be a transfer if they didn't." Shrug of narrow shoulders, dismissive of the issue, on to the next. "Leova? I'll be sure to keep the name in mind." She remains silent on the topic of wingleaders aside from her previous comment, preferring to nod along to Brieli's line of thought. As they say, if you have nothing nice to say... Speaking of, she opens her mouth to reply to H'vier, thinks again, and closes it. See? Women *can* be seen and not heard! Or maybe not. She can't resist. "More productive things? Like...?" Her klah is reappropriated, both hands wrapping fingers around the faintly warm mug, eyebrows lifted in inquiry. "Just an observation." Brieli's just thinking out loud here. She's in the position to notice patterns in these things, after all, right? Kicking her crossed booted foot idly, she tilts her head to regard H'vier with some little amusement. What he's saying doesn't match his expression, but she merely notes, "It was her idea. Hraedhyth has a lot of... energy. It might be better than leaving her with time on her hands to find occupation on her own. I really don't know what she'd get up to." Whatever rumors floating around that they've heard about the older queen might be true. Considering Ainslee's suggestion, she allows, "Everything comes to light under scrutiny." For example, what the bronzerider might occupy himself with - likewise interested in the greenrider's question, she affects a similiarly curious expression. Explain? H'vier is a man that has dealt with people on occasion and he may not be the brightest star in the sky but he's certainly not an idiot. Most of the time. He offers a smile to Ainslee and then to Brieli, who is really probably the bigger threat in his mind right now. All he says, though, is, "Work. Real work. Not pretending to be prepared for Threadfall that none of us will have to deal with again. Dragonriders could do a lot for Pern." But then the bronzerider is rising to his feet again, picking up both package and mug. "I need to be on my way," he tells them, then turns to head back into the Snowasis. He'll likely find somewhere else to come back out and get on with his errands. Ainslee is given to gaze after H'vier with a thoughtful expression, watching him leave with a shameless appreciation for the view. "Pretty," she remarks to Brieli in his wake. She leans forwards, now, shifting to dangle a single leg off her chair, arranged to prop elbow to tabletop, chin in cupped palm. Youthful gestures come to her easily, despite the fact that she's obviously well past teenaged turns. "Does High Reaches receive many transfers, then?" she questions the goldrider. Arching brows again as the bronzerider bails on the questioning, Brieli's only comment on all of that is a skeptical, "Mm." Right. Everyone's busy when you start asking the interesting questions. She too watches after H'vier, but somewhat less shamelessly; when Ainslee comments on the view, she doesn't agree or disagree on that, but the quirk of her lips at least hints at amusement. "I have one already," she notes, with a nod in the direction he'd disappeared off in. "And of late, there's been more than a few. I'm not quite sure what's caused it, though the timing is interesting for some of them." The bronzeriders, for example, have some very interesting timing. "What, a pretty one? Or bronzerider?" Ainslee rolls a shoulder in a rather unfeminine shrug at the topic of both. "They do tend to be a dime a dozen." Much like greenriders. And any other variety that Pern has, save a particular few. Older than the other, her gaze is more jaded at the topic of them showing up in-- an interesting temporal context. "Opportunity rarely knocks for dragonriders in interval," is her judicial comment. "Some more than others. Do you begrudge them that?" She does seem interested in the answer, her soft-spoken line of questioning apparently what passes for idle smalltalk; so easily distracted, though, by a fine set of legs walking by on the way out of the Snowasis. "Both. Lucky me." Brieli would be smirking if that thought weren't softening it into something closer to a smile, mercifully brief. "And I suppose that's true," she'll allow, though this time that allowance comes grudgingly. Perhaps that bitterness has something to do with her youth and inexperience, or maybe it has something to do with her supposed need for privacy - everyone goes in and out of Hraedhyth's weyr, but the people to come and go from Iesaryth's could be counted on one hand. "I don't know that I do personally, but I have to consider how things look. I do know that there's people born and bred here that do begrudge them that. But they would anyone. I don't find it strange. I find the others interesting, but I suppose there's opportunity in a shift in leadership as well, yes?" Ainslee seems entirely amused by the goldrider, dragging attention back from legs to Brieli. "Lucky girl," she echoes. "Just don't let him hurt you." This is said with an irrational amount of maternal instinct, considering that Ainslee would run screaming strapless into ::between:: if the 'pregnant' word came up as a diagnosis. A quick smile to diffuse any misunderstanding of the preceding sentence, belated, "Though of course you're in a much better position to-- prevent--" And here the new transplant trips all over herself in a hurry to shut up before saying something about a goldrider being well-equipped to protect herself. Hi foot, meet mouth. Casting on to the other topic-- "Of course. It is interesting how lifelong residents of a place can feel so strongly about who leads them, regardless of little impact upon their... day-to-day functions." Her color is still high. The warning has a darker look flicker across Brieli's face, if only for a split-second; when it's gone, "No. Azaylia wouldn't have it either." Nor her warrior-queen, likely. And though Ainslee might be tripping over her words, it's possible the mothering, however misplaced, might win the redhead some points - the darker girl doesn't look over questioningly in hopes of seeing the sentence finished, instead smoothly moving on as she pushes her chair back. "I've found that residents have strong opinions on many things, including having opinions. But perhaps that's a discussion for another time." Her tone regretful as she rises, "I do have some rounds to make. The bar... it ought to be well-stocked." If the rumors are true! Ainslee remains, still flushed with her near-miss; she inclines her chin and lifts a hand in half-salute half-wave, a murmured, "Good day," following Brieli's exit. She'll curse herself after the other is gone, and promptly forget about it when the latest sweet little thing walks by. Hey. At least she's predictable in *some* aspects. |
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